


To Dance Among the Living

by emynn



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Pride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin finds it's one thing to survive his bashing. It's a different thing entirely to actually live. Set during 2 x 04.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Dance Among the Living

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 30 Day Britin Challenge on Tumblr. This was written for prompt #1: “The mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for.” - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

How many fucking times had he heard it?

“You’re so lucky to be alive.”

“It’s a goddamn miracle, is what it is.”

“Sunshine lives to see another day!”

Except he _wasn’t_ lucky, it _wasn’t_ a miracle, and Justin was hardly living. He’d worked his ass off to get out of the fucking hospital. There was no _miracle_ involved. There was only blood and sweat and more tears than he’d be willing to admit. 

And for what? 

So he could sketch a drawing of Brian that Molly could have managed? Or consider himself a success because he was finally able to walk down the street all by himself? Christ, he was fucking pathetic. Hobbs had reduced him to this, to this trembling, useless jumble of taut tendons and fiery nerves, a rising college student whose greatest accomplishments were on par with a moderately precocious toddler. 

He saw the wounded expression on Brian’s face. He looked as shaken as he had that night when Justin had first found him again at Woody’s. Justin knew he should care. He knew he should reach out to him, because Brian was hurting, too. But he couldn’t. Not tonight. And even when Brian slipped into bed, tentatively stroked his arm and kissed the back of his neck so softly Justin thought it might just be an errant breeze, he didn’t move. 

If this was what the rest of his life was going to be, he didn’t want it.

Brian woke him the next morning with caresses as soft as the sunlight streaming in through the loft. For a moment, it felt so peaceful that Justin nearly forgot that he’d been plagued with dreams of blood upon cement all night, and that as soon as he planted his feet on the floor, he’d be living an entirely different nightmare, one that wouldn’t fade away with the night stars. 

He told him he didn’t want to go, that he wouldn’t go. Brian didn’t say anything, only covered him with kisses and stroked his hair and ran his hands up and down his sides. Normally this type of activity led to clothes coming off and landing on the floor, but when Justin looked down he realized Brian had somehow managed to achieve the exact opposite. They were dressed and ready to go. Well, Brian was. Justin was simply dressed. But Brian kissed him again, nuzzled his face against his neck, whispered words in Justin’s ear he could barely make out, words that were somehow as impossible to resist as the Pied Piper’s melody.

For a while, Justin was sure they’d end up being just as deadly. He saw Hobbs nearly everywhere he looked. The crowd threatened to drown him. And he was all too aware of how painfully his hand was cramping at his side, could feel all his dreams for the future spilling forth from him along with the beads of sweat forming on his skin, all while watching the other merry queers celebrating in the sun.

He was so lost in his own world that he didn’t even notice Brian taking his hand, gently but firmly massaging it in that manner he’d perfected over the past few weeks. In fact, Justin wasn’t even aware that Brian was touching him until he noticed the acute _absence_ of pain. He glanced over at Brian, feeling somehow ashamed, until Brian leaned in and kissed him on the mouth.

When Brian told him to go march with his mother, Justin did immediately. He could do this much. He walked alongside her, the woman who had bought him his first paint set and taught him to ride a bike, who had tried to tell him he was too young to know how he felt and had tried to keep him away from Brian. He clasped hands with his mother, who worked every day to learn more, who wanted what was best for him, who accepted him for who he was. And when he saw her smile, her face beaming with more pride than any of the performers all around them, he smiled, too.

She led him back to Brian when they finished their route. Brian stood up, Gus in his arms, to say hello. Justin thought he might have even blushed a bit when Jennifer leaned in and kissed his cheek, but Brian insisted it was only sunburn. Justin laughed and tickled Gus, who giggled and flapped his chubby arms about. There were some days Justin felt it hadn’t been all that long ago that he’d met Brian and his life had been changed forever, but then he saw how big Gus was growing and remembered all they’d already been through. He had the sudden thought that maybe one day he’d be like this, still by Brian’s side, as they watched Gus learn to ride a bike and run off to school with a Spiderman bookbag bumping against his back. Maybe Justin would even get him his own paint set. He looked up at Brian, who was already gazing right back at him. But he didn’t seem startled to have been caught staring. Instead he only wrapped his arm around Justin and pointed out a drag queen who looked suspiciously like Michael.

Eventually, they made their way to Woody’s. It was a victory lap for them -- Justin had survived his first Pride, so why not cap off their celebration with his first trip back to the bar? Well, his first trip back where he didn’t end up huddled against the wall, of course. 

It was nice, but Justin was tired. And while it had been amazing to have Brian to himself all day, the last thing Justin wanted to do was make him feel obligated to also be with him at night. He’d heard all the stories from the guys about Pride. There was no better way to celebrate than with a good hard screw against a wall, after all. And that’s exactly what Brian should be doing now. Not watching Justin nurse his second glass of water.

And then he felt that tap on his shoulder, and turned around to see Brian somehow managing to look like an earnest schoolboy asking his crush to dance. Justin laughed him off, but then Brian promised he wouldn’t forget it. His face was as open as Justin could ever remember seeing it, filled both with hope and inexplicable nervousness.

That’s when Justin realized what Brian was doing.

He was giving him a second chance and a second dance. Prom may have been amazing, from everything Daphne told him, but it wasn’t theirs. It was a dance in a ballroom filled with people who hated him, who didn’t give a shit about him, who wouldn’t have cared if he died. It was enclosed in a cement box that didn’t belong to them. Hobbs had reminded them of that.

But that’s not what was here. Here, they could dance out in the open, in the middle of the street, in front of all their friends and the freaks who didn’t give a fuck. He could kiss Brian exactly how he wanted without drawing gasps. They were in their world. Nobody would dare touch them here. Justin would remember this forever, dancing with Brian, who was holding him close and looking at him as though he was the only person in the universe who mattered. 

That night, they danced in the streets, beneath the rainbow flags and the twinkling lights, amidst raucous cries and brightly colored feathers and sparkling strands of beads. 

And as Justin rested his forehead against Brian’s, felt his hands sliding into the back of his waistband, he finally felt it. _Pride._

To be here with Brian.

To be here at all.

To dance among the living. 

Right where he belonged.


End file.
